[GM]
The company sees before them a pastoral, snow-covered landscape. There
are small copses of trees here and there, but other than that it is
rolling pasture land. There are raised lines in the snowing suggesting
short fences or walls underneath the snow. Cows can be seen grazing on
stacks of fresh hay, obviously put out after the latest snowfall. In
all but one direction (north), this is largely what the land looks like.
To the south and east there are low hills. To the west there is more
pasture land, extending for many miles, with the odd small house or barn
to be seen. A river winds along from south to east, following the line
of the hills before disappearing behind them. The river itself, or
perhaps another one, reappears to the north of the town.
The town, or what you can see of it, is ringed by a wall of stone and
mortar that is perhaps twenty feet high. It's about a mile off, but
guards can be seen walking along the top of the wall. Beyond the wall
can be seen a good deal of woodsmoke, suggesting at least several
hundred houses. Many of the roofs can be glimpsed, and indicate
traditional building methods of shingles and tiles. There are no
obvious signs of high technology, and the building styles and the wall
suggest a somewhat low-tech town. Some telephone poles can be seen,
suggesting electricity to homes and at least some sort of phone system.
The snow blankets the scene, so evidence of battle may be hidden, but
there are no obvious signs of any recent conflict. There are no ley
lines visible. If anything, to the eyes of 20th century dwellers like
Ted and Lady Frost, it seems, other than the defensive wall, to be the
idyllic early 20th century small country town.
[/GM]
>> [Phaeton]
>> Phaeton's eyes open slightly. "Alex..." he sees so weakly as to be
>> barely heard. "Alex... You must... must make for Rath Iren. You
>> must stop the demon. All depends on this. The Reaver's... Sword...
>> nearby... it can help."
>>>> With that his body stiffens. He takes one last rattling breath and
>> then is still.
>> [/Phaeton]
> [Alex]
> Alex looks at the body who was once her friend. Gently, she holds out
> her hand and closes her eyes. "I am not a hero. I am just a simple
> scout. I wish I really could understand what all this means. I guess
> the best think would be to head for town. How I would love just a
> single night of rest."
> [/Alex]
>> [GM]
>> The boy shakes his head. "I'm sorry for your friend. If you want,
>> I'll take you into town. The Mayor is going to want to see you
>> anyways."
>> [/GM]
> [Ted]
> "Really?" the lizard man answers. He glances at his companions. "Is
> there a doctor in town? A few of us will need to see him, too."
> [/Ted]
[GM]
"Doc Comeau can patch most folks up." the boy says. "My pa says he came
east from Free Quebec, and was the best damn field doctor the Coalition
ever had." The boy seems quite over his fright, and with the trust and
pleasure that only a child can have. He seems quite pleased that he
knows more than adults do.
[/GM]
> [Carlos]
> "Any town has to be better than where we just came from," Carlos
> says. As he surveys the scene he mutters to himself, "Los pingüinos
> están en el wáter. What have I gotten mixed up with?"
> [/Carlos]
> [Alex]
> Responding in Spanish, Alex states, “He estado con este equipo
> durante algún tiempo y todavía no entiendo!”
>> ("I have been with this team for a while and still don't
> understand!")
> [/Alex]
> [Ted]
> Ted addressed the boy. "Can you take us to your mayor?"
> [/Ted]
[GM]
"I sure can!" the boy says. "My pa is one of the Mayor's most trusted
men. I'm always in and out of the Mayor's House. He'll be really
interested to know about people coming out of thin air."
Before the boy even finishes speaking his sentence, the company can see
a gate open in the walled town, and out come several men on horses
flanking a small armored vehicle.
"Looks like you'll meet my pa first! He's the one in the armored
truck!" he says proudly. "You better call him Major Pournelle. He's on
'official' business as he calls it."
[/GM]
--
Aaron Clausen
mightymartianca at gmail.com